


tamago okayu with a dash of cumin

by rocoroloco (wafumayo)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bad Cooking, Established Relationship, Food Poisoning, M/M, Post-Canon, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafumayo/pseuds/rocoroloco
Summary: Akechi Goro's foray into the challenge of taking care of his sick boyfriend, aided the whole while by said boyfriend's magical talking cat.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Morgana, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 147
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server events





	tamago okayu with a dash of cumin

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the 21+ akeshuake server minibang! Please keep an eye out for more fics coming your way, and if you haven't already, please check out the talented writers and artists who posted in the days prior!

“I’ve never had a ‘fun sleepover adventure’ in my life, but do people usually consider cleaning vomit out of a wooden floor fun?”

Ren’s reply is a nauseated groan and Goro looks up sharply in case he needs to drag the trash can over again. Thankfully, Ren doesn’t seem inclined to give Goro another first-hand look at what he’d eaten for breakfast (curry) because he just lies there, sweaty and feverish and useless. 

Satisfied that Ren was done, Goro tosses the soiled cleaning rag in his hand into the bucket of soapy warm water next to him and stands up to leave. Ren whines, full of self-pity, grating on Goro’s ears in an excruciating way not unlike when he hears the crying of a puppy. 

“Wurr you goin’?” Ren manages to slur out, his tone and expression making it clear that just forcing the words out his throat in a semi-intelligible manner is an ordeal of the greatest kind.

“Downstairs so that I can dispose of this,” Goro replies, lifting the bucket in his hand even though Ren isn’t even looking at him.

Ren’s answer is a moan and a hand grasping in Goro’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything to beseech Goro to stay, so Goro turns and walks down the stairs towards the kitchen. Morgana is perched on the edge of the sink, his fur covered with water from washing off Ren’s half-digested food. He’d absolutely refused to wash himself off the “normal” cat way (understandably so, Goro admits) and had all but begged for Goro to help him turn on the tap to let him bathe himself in the sink. 

The faucet is still running. Goro turns it off.

“How is he?” Morgana asks, sounding much more composed than the screeching animal he’d been a mere five minutes ago.

“He’s better now,” Goro assures him, dumping the contents of the bucket into the sink and setting it heavily onto the floor. He takes a deep breath to centre himself. Then another, because Goro’s been trying really hard to be a good person who no longer throws things when he gets stressed out. 

It’s a testament to the good faith he’s accumulated over the months since Akira dragged him kicking and screaming into everyone’s lives again that no one pointed a finger and accused him of sneaking poison into the food. Definitely not enough to excuse him for his counts of murder (including Futaba’s mother who also happened to be Sojiro’s not-love interest), but even that little bit of trust is almost enough to make Goro a little misty-eyed just thinking about it.

Key word: almost.

He opens the refrigerator and takes out the two offending Tupperware containers, glaring down at them. Now that he’s _really_ looking at them, the cubes of watermelon don’t seem to be floating in liquid so much as they’re suspended in a thick slime. And now that he’s thinking about it, they did have an odd acrid smell to them that Goro had never associated with watermelon before. And, now that he’s taking a _really_ good look at the storebought nikujaga, there is a strange fuzziness to the top layer of the broth. There are some odd particles floating here and there, the mossy grey-green a colour that Goro has never seen before in any stew.

Okay, so the food that Goro, Ren, and Futaba ate for dinner the night previous had been bad. In Goro’s defense, he’s not a food detective, and Ren, for all his grandstanding about what an amazing chef he’s become under Sojiro’s tutelage, hadn’t said a damn thing about the nikujaga Goro’d bought on his way to Leblanc for a “fun sleepover adventure.” 

He dumps the contents into the food disposal bin and shuts the lid with a little more aggression than perhaps necessary.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Morgana giving him a pitying stare.

“So it really was food poisoning?” The cat (not a cat, Goro’s mind faithfully retorts for him) asks.

Goro grits his teeth before he jerks his head in a nod.

Morgana lets out a big sigh, sounding like the air slowly being let out of a balloon. “I told them not to eat the food because it all smelled weird!” He puts his head on his paws and lashes his tail in distress. Despite knowing that the cat is the embodiment of humanity’s hope and not an actual cat, Goro can’t help but give him a reassuring pat on the head, which causes Morgana to glare up at him. “And just _how_ are you okay when the food knocked out both Ren and Futaba?”

His tone is very accusatory, as if he does secretly think that Goro poisoned the food and downed the antidote right before dinner. 

“I’ve had to eat stuff older and mouldier during my stay in the foster homes,” Goro says, keeping his tone light and unaffected. It’s the way he’s perfected when talking about his past so that he doesn’t sound like he’s weaponizing it for sympathy points, but it always puts an expression on Ren’s face that sets Goro’s teeth on edge. He’s seen Ren look the same way at crying babies and whining puppies. “My body simply built up an immunity to food poisoning, and maybe actual poison too.”

Morgana doesn’t look very convinced. “Is that how you didn’t notice the nikujaga was all gross and mouldy when you went to get it at the restaurant?”

Goro doesn’t tell Morgana that he’d been too excited about seeing Ren (and Futaba) after three weeks of constantly working and never having time for even a phone call to be remotely aware of anything that didn’t have messy black curls and slate grey eyes hidden behind endearingly fake glasses.

Instead of all _that_ , he asks, “What’s the phone number for the Sakura residence? I only have Futaba’s number.”

“It’s taped on the fridge.”

And lo and behold, there is indeed a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a homemade magnet in the shape of Joker’s Metaverse mask, what appears to be the Sakura residence’s number written on it in big blue letters that Goro recognizes as Futaba’s writing. He takes out his cellphone, dials it, and waits.

Sojiro picks up on the fifth ring. “Hello?” His voice is weary and tight from stress, and Goro can’t help but feel extremely guilty in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

“It’s Akechi.”

“Ah, Akechi,” Sojiro sounds pleasantly surprised, “how’re you two holding up? Futaba’s still down, but thankfully the medicine I gave her seems to have knocked her out.”

Goro winces. Futaba had been in terrible shape when Sojiro came and whisked her away, and it was disheartening to hear that she wasn’t feeling any better. It was admittedly a little optimistic of him to think that she’d be back at one hundred percent when Ren, who is one of the hardiest people Goro has ever had the misfortune of meeting, was still a useless pile of sweaty limbs upstairs.

“I’m fine,” Goro says when he realizes that he hasn’t said anything yet. “I’m fine, but Ren’s down. I’ll...probably try and take care of him.”

Sojiro grunts. “There’s some medicine in the cabinet that’s good for food poisoning; got it from that clinic he swears by, just in case something like this was going to happen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t get the wrong idea there, kid. Ren’s been making more and more of his own blend of curry, and I didn’t want him poisoning himself or you.”

“No, I mean,” Goro pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He can feel the weight of Morgana’s stare on his back, but he doesn’t want to turn around to see what he imagines is the cat’s judging look. “I’m sorry for accidentally making Ren and Futaba sick.”

Sojiro chuckles, his voice tinny through the phone’s speaker but filled with a sort of warm fondness. Goro guesses he’s looking down at Futaba during the phone call because there’s no other explanation for why Sojiro would sound that way. “Don’t worry yourself, kid. Mistakes happen. Call me if you need help with anything. I can’t leave Futaba alone, but I can tell you what to do if you’re not sure.” And with that, he hangs up.

Goro puts his phone back onto the counter and breathes out sharply through his nose. Morgana’s tail twitches and he leaps from the sink to the counter. “What did he say?”

“Futaba’s not doing so well,” Goro tells him, “and to call him if I need help with anything.”

Morgana’s whiskers and ears droop. He looks to the stairwell, no doubt thinking of poor Ren all laid up in his bed because Goro didn’t have the foresight to check the food when it was handed to him. 

“You can go to the Sakura residence if you’re worried about Futaba. I can take care of Ren. He’s a pretty tough guy. We’ve seen him bounce back from worse things than this,” Goro says, trying to sound upbeat and reassuring. 

Morgana looks at him with something close to disbelief, but he slowly pushes himself to his feet. “You’ll call Master if something goes wrong, right?” He asks, sounding unsure. 

“Of course,” Goro assures him, as truthful and honest as he’s been in a long time. His hand is already itching towards his phone, his mind screaming at him to call Sojiro again or ask Morgana for Takemi’s number. Any adult in the vicinity with more experience and qualification to take care of his sick boyfriend upstairs. 

Morgana nods reluctantly, but hesitates. “I think I’ll stay here, actually,” he says. “Futaba’s fine with Master, but Ren…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. Normally, Goro would be offended, but in this case, he feels that Morgana is justified in his anxiety. Truth be told, Goro would love nothing more than to run to the Sakura residence and beg Sojiro on hand and knee to come back to Leblanc and help him take care of Ren. 

But this is the bed that he made, and he’s going to lay in it.

For what feels like the fiftieth time that day, Goro takes in a deep breath, holds it, and breathes out again, counting to ten in his head. Behind the counter, he can see the cupboard where Sojiro told him Takemi’s medicine is supposed to be. Once he opens the door, he finds it instantly: Takemi’s signature blue pills in a see-through container, with her doctor’s scrawl writing _something_ on the sticker label. He turns back and makes his way up to his personal hell. 

To his surprise, Ren is propped up on his elbows, his face a lot paler than Goro’s used to seeing. He’s taken off his shirt, where it lays in a sweaty and stinky lump on the ground, and Goro rushes over, poking at it with his foot. No vomit. So Ren hadn’t taken it off because he threw up. Ren smiles when he sees Goro and gives him a lazy wave. 

Goro frowns and stalks toward him, reaching out to push Ren back down before thinking better of it. “Are you feeling better?” He asks brusquely.

“Oh, of course,” Ren answers. He sounds breathless, like he used to after a particularly tough session in Mementos. Goro reaches out and presses the back of his left hand to Ren’s forehead.

The heat radiating off of Ren’s head makes Goro hiss and jerk his hand back in shock. “You’re burning up!”

Ren shakes his head and hides a wince, but he’s long been unable to deceive Goro’s eye. “I’m fine. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I just need some warm water and then we can go visit Futaba together.”

He scoots himself closer to the edge of the bed but before he can get off of it, Goro gets up in his face, grabbing onto his shoulders and pushing him down. Ren’s muscles tense like he’s preparing to push Goro off, but his struggling is as weak as a newborn kitten’s. Goro shoves him back onto the mattress with more force than necessary. 

Ren raises an eyebrow. “Kinky.”

Goro glares at him. “Not funny,” he grits, “and what are you thinking anyway? You’re obviously still running a fever. You do realize that you have a very bad case of food poisoning, right?”

“Just give me the medicine and I’ll be okay.”

The look in Ren’s eyes is one of sheer stubbornness - it’s the look that Goro’s seen across from him in the engine room, next to him in Penguin Sniper. He isn’t going to go down without a fight and Goro usually gives him one as best as he can, but in Ren’s state, it’s a little bit like kicking a puppy while it’s asleep. He heaves out a frustrated sigh and looks at the pill bottle in his hands. 

“You need to eat something first,” he informs him. 

“There’s still some nikujaga left over from last night, right?” Ren asks hopefully. Goro stares at him like he’s out of his mind, so he tacks on, “The store you chose was really good! It’s too bad we only had a little bit.”

Ren ate two full bowls of the stuff last night.

“I threw out the nikujaga,” Goro tells him and he ignores Ren’s surprised shout. “I’ll make you something else. Just...lay still and don’t move.”

He shoves Ren’s head back down onto the pillow, pointedly ignoring Ren’s wince when the sudden action jolts his head back. Goro’s hand hovers uncertainly over the blanket but before he can do anything, Ren’s pulling the covers over his head. “I’ll see you later, Goro,” he hears Ren say, his voice muffled beneath the thin cotton.

He doesn’t seem inclined to show his face or say anything else, so Goro turns and walks back down to the kitchen, already taking out his phone to navigate to Cookpad.

_What to make for someone who’s sick?_

Instantly, recipes upon recipes of okayu, soup, and stews illuminate on Goro’s screen. He also missed a text from Sojiro earlier, while he was upstairs trying to get Ren to lay back down.

 **Sojiro** [13:31]: There should be some cold compresses in the fridge and a hot water bottle in the cabinet by the medicine if you need it.

Cold compress? Hot water bottle? 

“Hey,” he says to Morgana, who is pacing anxiously back and forth on the counter. Morgana’s ears prick up and he settles down near the yellow telephone. “How do you use a hot water bottle and a cold compress? What are they for?"

Morgana’s tail twitches. “What are those?”

Secretly cursing himself and the cat for being so clueless when it comes to taking care of sick people, Goro opens a new tab and quickly googles both.

The information is enlightening. Goro can’t remember a time when his mother used either of those things whenever he got sick, but then again, she had been a very busy woman. It probably just slipped her mind at times to do so, or she did them when Goro was asleep. He heats up water in a kettle, glaring down at a recipe for tamago okayu so easy that “even a sick person can make it.”

Goro’s not the sick person around here, but if someone in a state as nauseated and groggy as Ren could apparently manage the recipe, then it shouldn’t be a problem for him. 

“Haven’t you ever been sick before?” Morgana asks. “I’m sure if you just do whatever your mom did for you, you’ll be fine.”

Goro keeps his gaze fixed on his phone, but none of the words in the Cookpad article register in his mind as he turns Morgana’s question over in his head. “My mom took care of me sometimes, when I got sick,” he says slowly, his voice shaking somewhat with the effort of keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “She wasn’t home a lot of the time, and she only ever took care of me when I was asleep. I don’t really remember a lot.”

It’s a lie, but Morgana doesn’t call him out on it or notice it, too busy saying, “Akechi…” with the softest and most sympathetic mew.

He remembers the few times that he had been knocked out so hard by the flu or other virus that he physically could not even push himself off the bed, calling the school himself to beg them to let him take a sick day. His mom always seemed so proud of the way he could look after himself without her. He always wanted to make her happy. 

He didn’t want her to be disappointed with him, or add to her stress by being a useless baby. 

In truth though, after he fed himself instant porridge and medicine and laid himself in bed, he always wished that _someone_ had been there with him. Sometimes, when his mom came home, she would walk over to him and card her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way that he always liked. On very good days, when he woke up, she would still be there, a small smile on her tired face as she spoon-fed him canned fruits and jello. 

_Thank you for taking care of me_ , he would always want to say, but he would get too shy at the open display of emotion. Too fixated on soaking up as much attention as he could while his mom was there in front of him. 

No wonder she decided to leave, when she was forced to destroy her body just to take care of an ungrateful burden such as himself. He often wonders if she looks down on him from time to time, her lip curled in disgust because the son she spent the last years of her life trying to raise ended up being a stupid and useless criminal.

The kettle starts to whistle and he quickly but carefully transfers the contents into the hot water bottle, feeling it once or twice with his hand. It’s uncomfortably hot, and Goro frowns, but there’s no other way to make a hot water bottle, so Goro internally shrugs his shoulders. As he passes the fridge, he opens it and snags out a disposable cold compress sheet before making his way back upstairs.

Ren has evolved to emerge from his cocoon, his face red and his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He looks like he’s asleep, but as soon as Goro properly enters the attic, his eyes open and he smiles lazily at Goro. Goro pointedly ignores the skip of his heart.

“Hey,” Ren says, his voice hoarse. He coughs wetly into his fist. Goro winces when Ren wipes his hand on the blanket. Surely Ren wouldn’t object to Goro burning the offending scrap of fabric when he gets better. “You’re back early. Missed me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Goro shoots back automatically. Remembering the instructions he read off his phone, he reaches down and gingerly plucks the blanket off of Ren, mindful of any patches that _might_ be saliva and snot - truly disgusting. He lifts the bottom of Ren’s t-shirt and, ignoring Ren’s “hey, it’s only one in the afternoon,” he drops the hot water bottle down on Ren’s stomach. 

Ren hisses and jerks back on the bed, but Goro doesn’t give him time to squirm away before he rips the packaging off the cold compress sheet and smacks it right on Ren’s forehead. Ren’s erratic movements meant that the cold compress went right over his hair as well, and Goro has to press down firmly to prevent the sheet from sliding off. 

“Stop moving,” Goro snaps, “you’re going to dislodge the compress sheet.”

He ignores Ren’s glare and stalks back downstairs. He can hear discontented mumblings -- directed at him, no doubt -- behind him but he doesn’t have time to listen. He has a tamago okayu to make.

Morgana, too, has migrated towards the stairwell, his tail high and inquisitive. “How’s he doing?”

Goro replies, “Why don’t you go up there and see for yourself?”

Morgana bristles. “I don’t want him to throw up on me again!” He turns and leaps lightly onto the counter again. Goro makes a mental note to himself to wipe it down and disinfect it after before Sojiro has a second conniption. “Besides, I need to make sure you don’t burn down the cafe.”

Offended, Goro snaps, “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

“Someone who’s never cooked before.”

Goro opens his mouth indignantly before closing it with a snap. Checkmate.

Instead, he walks over and shows Morgana the recipe open on his phone. “I’m going to make tamago okayu. If you’re as worried as you say you are, then you should help me.”

Morgana’s kitty eyes narrow as he quickly skim over the words on the screen. “How am I supposed to help?”

“You could read me the instructions, for one thing.”

So as per Morgana’s loud orders, Goro heats up a pot of rice and water, along with a large handful of dried katsuo-bushi that Morgana dug out for him from the cupboard. He pops in a hefty spoonful of miso, as per the recipe dictates, along with a cracked and mixed egg. 

“Then it’s done,” Morgana says with a note of finality in his voice. He sits back with a look of triumph in his eyes. “You did it, Akechi. In only twenty minutes too!”

Goro hides his pleased smile behind his hand. It’s not the time to be feeling proud of himself just yet. Not until he shoves a piping hot spoonful of the stuff into Ren’s mouth. But before that, he dips a small spoon into the okayu and takes a small sip of it. With a frown, he reaches out and sips a second one, ignoring Morgana’s sharp “Akechi!”

“It tastes...kind of bland,” Goro says honestly. He snatches the phone off the counter and reads through it. Yep, nothing wrong with what Morgana told him. The measurements, the cooking time, the ingredients...everything is in order. So how?

Morgana doesn’t look as bothered as he normally would at the idea of someone doubting his abilities to read off of instructions. “I guess maybe because it’s supposed to be for a sick person?”

Goro frowns, “But sick people can’t taste as strongly, I remember reading.” Poor Ren would have to down the entire pot of this flavourless slop if even Goro’s healthy taste buds aren’t picking anything up. He dips the spoon back into the pot for Morgana to taste in case cat taste buds are any different, but Morgana shies away with a hiss.

“I’m not going to eat something out of a spoon _you_ touched!” He snaps. “Why don’t you add more flavouring if you think that it doesn’t taste that good?”

Slightly offended at the cat’s reaction, Goro starts digging carefully through the spice rack above the stove. There’s...a lot, due in no small part to the fact that Leblanc’s signature dish is a curry blended in house. But, he supposes, that just means Ren will be able to enjoy a taste of home. 

“Do you know how Leblanc blends its curry?” Goro asks the cat, picking up a bottle of turmeric and a bottle of cinnamon powder, looking between the two with a critical eye.

In his periphery, he sees Morgana shake his head. “No, Master only told Ren. Why?”

“Hmm.” Goro brings the turmeric to his nose and smells it. Unfamiliar. He brings the garlic powder to his nose and sniffs that. Familiar in the sense that he knows what garlic smells like, but not in the way that he’s ever smelled it from Ren’s cooking before. “Do you think you can add curry spices into okayu?”

“I...think so?” 

He hesitates for a brief moment, before starting to add the two powders into the pot. Cumin powder, curry powder, coriander powder, chili pepper powder, nutmeg powder, crushed bay leaf, cinnamon, cardamom powder...everything on the rack, he shakes gently into the okayu, watching as the colour turns from a light amber to one that Goro optimistically defines as cocoa brown.

He looks at the cat, who is watching the proceedings with a great deal of trepidation on his face. “What do you think?”

Morgana sniffs the air and carefully bounds over, avoiding the heat of the stove with a practiced ease. He peers inside the pot and Goro resists the urge to shove his head away on the off chance that any stray hairs drop in. “It doesn’t really look like the picture anymore.”

Goro looks down at the phone. The amber mush from earlier had been a carbon copy of the photo in the recipe. The brown brew bubbling merrily away in front of him looks like something completely different. “The recipe didn’t taste good anyway,” he says, though even he can tell that he doesn’t sound confident. 

He removes the ladle from the rack and carefully spoons the okayu into a bowl. He grabs a spoon from the utensils drawer and asks, “Are you going to come up with me this time?”

Morgana shakes his head, looking morose. Goro frowns down at him but the cat hates it when he feels like someone is being condescending to him, so he ignores Morgana and makes his way back into the attic. 

To his immediate annoyance, Ren has pushed himself up again, seemingly in the process of trying to get his legs to cooperate with him and get out of bed. He brightens up when he sees Goro and Goro can see his eyes focus right onto the bowl in his hands. “I could smell you making something downstairs.”

“Lay back down again,” Goro snaps, “and yes, I was making okayu for you.”

Ren’s face is eager and excited, and Goro can almost imagine a dog tail on Ren’s behind, wagging away furiously. He bites his lip to fight down a flush and sits down, scooping up a copious amount of the okayu in the spoon and holding it out to Ren’s face, using the bowl as a safety net in case any of the food splatters onto the cleaned bedsheets.

The expression on Ren’s face changes somewhat when the spoon nears his mouth, and Ren backs off slightly. “What did you add to the okayu?”

Goro frowns. “I followed a recipe and then added some stuff I thought you’d like. There wasn’t much flavour when I tested it. Why?”

Ren shakes his head. “Nothing. It just doesn’t smell like any okayu I’ve ever had.”

Ren’s parents are probably great cooks, or at least, they have the money to hire a great cook, if their one visit to Inaba last year was any sort of indication. Goro doesn’t know what kind of okayu Ren’s had before. Doesn’t know what kind of okayu most people have had before. It’s not a thought he wants to burden Ren with though, especially when he’s about to eat it.

“It smells like the kind I grew up eating,” Goro lies. 

The look Ren gives him seems to say ‘yeah, right’ but Ren is sick, so Goro can forgive him for having a pinched expression. There is no hesitation as Ren leans forward and swallows the okayu in one bite. 

He reminds Goro of a chipmunk as he pushes the rice around his mouth for a second, before he pauses and the corners of his lips twitch down in an unmistakable grimace. He swallows. “It’s good,” Ren says tightly. “Tastes like the gourmet stuff I had once as a kid.”

Goro’s eyes narrow. He isn’t an idiot. He scoops himself up another spoonful of the okayu and, ignoring Ren asking him to stop, pops it into his mouth. He can feel his eyes widen and he drops the spoon into the bowl as he clasps his hand to his mouth, trying desperately not to spit it back out.

It is, to put it rather simply, immensely disgusting. The sharp sweetness of the cumin intermingling with the strong and distinct flavour of the cloves, with the spicy bite from the chili powder enhanced by the cloying aroma of the cinnamon. He can barely taste the miso or the egg. The unfortunate texture of the okayu means that his mouth is liberally coated with the flavour, no matter how many times he salivates and swallows to try and rid himself of the taste.

It’s a million times worse than the takoyaki incident. 

“Ren,” he chokes out after what feels like an hour of sitting there trying to clear out his taste buds. The worry in Ren’s eyes bothers him somewhat; he’s supposed to be the one taking care of him, but yet again, Ren is wasting time on him. “Ren, I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s okay,” Ren says soothingly, reaching out and giving Goro a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Mistakes happen. It’s your first time really cooking, isn’t it?”

Goro shakes his head. “That’s no excuse. I -”

“Here, give this to me.”

With surprisingly strong hands given how weak and nauseous he’s been the whole day, Ren takes the bowl, extricating it from Goro’s limp grip, and starts to eat the okayu quickly, with the same rapid ferocity that he usually uses when he tackles the Big Bang Challenge. Goro can barely get a word in to try and stop him, can hardly start to think of reaching out to just bat the bowl out of Ren’s hands, before Ren lets out a satisfied sigh, an empty bowl in his hands.

“Thanks for the meal, Goro,” Ren says with such a sincere smile that it makes Goro’s heart clench in his chest. “It was delicious.”

Ever since Goro and Ren started going out for real - no, even before that, when Goro first came back from hiding once he felt that he was no longer going to put anyone in danger simply by existing in Tokyo - Goro’s felt his world expand. He never knew of things like the comfort of body heat next to him during a movie, or how the best seasoning for a meal isn’t hunger, but a friendly presence. 

The feeling in his chest is warm in a way that makes him squirm, hot in a way that makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to think, what to say. He grabs the bowl from Ren’s hands, and replaces it with the pill bottle. 

“Here,” he says brusquely, “take your medicine. It’s Takemi’s, so if her stuff is as good as you claim it is, you’ll be fine in seconds.”

“We’re not in the Metaverse, you know,” Ren laughs fondly. He pops two of the pills in his mouth and chases it with a swig of bottled water from the side of the bed, where Goro had placed it after Ren first started throwing up in the middle of the night. 

Goro doesn’t fuss over Ren but he pushes him back down, helping him get the covers up around him again, fluffing the pillow around his head so that his neck and shoulders don’t hurt him any more than his stomach already does. By the time he’s done, the affectionate look in Ren’s eyes is shuttered away as he sleeps peacefully for the first time since the entire ordeal started.

He takes a steadying breath, looks over the bed for any hint of spilled okayu or water that he should clean up lest they attract rats, and makes his way back downstairs.

Morgana zips away from the base of the stairs and settles back onto the booth, but Goro isn’t an idiot. “You were eavesdropping?” He says, aiming to sound non-judgemental, but the words were accusatory enough that Morgana looks abashed. 

“I needed to make sure he was okay,” Morgana insists, “and I also wanted to know if your cooking was good before I stole any.”

Goro scowls. “Well, you should know that it isn’t. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Ren was too,” Morgana says, “when he first started cooking curry with Master.” But the cat is a liar even when he doesn’t mean to, so Goro takes his words with several handfuls of salt. 

Goro drops the bowl into the sink, uncaring of the loud clatter it makes against the bottom, and fills it up with water. There is a crick in his neck from how long he had been looking down at his phone and into the pot of okayu, and he suddenly feels tired, as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he can finally relax. He heaves out a sigh of weariness, the tension of the day prickling at his senses and his consciousness.

“I’m going to go take a nap,” he says to Morgana, who nods and jumps onto Goro’s heavy shoulders as if Goro had extended an invitation. Newsflash: he did not. But he’s too tired to try and argue with the cat so he makes his way back upstairs again, to where Ren is.

Ren had been sleeping peacefully when Goro left him, and he still is, undisturbed, looking as tranquil as ever. It’s the sort of heavy sleep that Goro associates with passionate nights, and he can’t help but reach out and smooth out the curls on Ren’s forehead, in a way that he vaguely recalls his mother doing to him in half-remembered sleepy memories.

Morgana leaps off his shoulders and pads towards the couch. “It’s been a long day,” he yawns, “so you should try to get some sleep too. I know I will.” And with that, he closes his eyes and curls up, seemingly uninterested in the going-ons of the attic space around him. It’s odd that Morgana, usually so protective of Ren, would be so aloof about a situation in which Ren is in physical discomfort, but Goro isn’t a cat detective, no matter how often Ren teases him with that name, so it’s beyond him.

The mattress in Ren’s room is small, the full-sized mattress they’d ordered to make the space more comfortable for when Goro spends the night still in transit, so Goro settles down instead on the ground, his knees protesting already as he kneels in front of Ren’s bed as if in prayer. 

When he tucked Ren in, he could’ve sworn that he placed the blanket atop of his body until only his head was exposed, but Ren’s left hand had wormed its way out, and Goro moves before he even realizes to clutch it, feeling the warmth of Ren’s hand. A warmth that he presses against his face. 

It’s the kind of warmth he remembers wishing for in his foolish youthful days, when he thought that miracles existed and that the world was black-and-white, hero-and-villain. That his mother was a strong and courageous woman who would stand unfaltering against the onslaught of judgement, who would stay in front of him without fail. 

A warmth that had long since turned cold until that fateful day in June, when he met eyes with a pair of grey, hidden behind a barrier of glass and plastic.

Before Goro even registers it in his consciousness, he’s fallen asleep, Ren’s hand clutched in his hand, and his head pillowed against Ren’s leg.

-

The sound of a phone camera and the minute shifting of something in his grip is what wakes Goro, and he lets out a muffled groan in protest, trying to bury his face back into the blanket. It’s been a stressful time for him lately, taking care of Ren, trying to keep his composure together in front of Sojiro when Futaba couldn’t stop throwing up. The exhaustion from the previous day simply isn’t letting up and he can feel a groggy pounding against his skull.

“You good, Goro?” He hears a deep and painfully familiar voice ask.

“Mmf,” he manages, pushing himself up from the bed and staring forward, his mind working at mach speed to try and pull itself together. 

He finds himself staring at the white of Ren’s bed, his left hand hanging loosely in Ren’s own. Ren’s pushed himself up so he’s sitting on the bed, his face back to its normal degree pale and the glint of mischievous fondness in his eyes reminiscent of bad romance movies and relentless cuddling. The open affection that Ren bestows upon Goro is stifling at the worst of times, but after that hellish night, Goro can’t bring it upon himself to care.

The usual pang of annoyance doesn’t seep through Goro at the sight and he pushes himself up, allowing his forehead to knock against Ren’s, ignoring the way that Ren’s breath catches in his throat at the action. “You’re certainly feeling better,” he notes, “if your temperature is any indication.”

“I am,” Ren says, his voice choked, his morning breath lingering against Goro’s own. Goro doesn’t hide his grimace. “All thanks to you taking care of me.”

“And Morgana,” Goro reminds him. He can hear the snoring purrs of the cat on the couch, but he has the feeling that if he doesn’t defend the cat’s honour here and now, the cat would never let him hear the end of it. “He helped me.”

He can feel Ren’s lips curl into a smile. “Helped you with the cooking?"

Goro groans and leans back, allowing his face to thump back into the blankets. He doesn’t need a reminder of how badly he messed up, of how he probably made Ren’s stomach so much more uncomfortable at a time he desperately needed some normal food. “I should have tested it first,” he says, uncaring of whether or not Ren could understand him with the blankets all around his mouth. 

He feels a hand card its fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he fights down an irrational burning behind his eyelids. Ridiculous sentimentality; he really thought that he had trained it out of him when he was a child, but it seems that Ren’s feverish emotions are contagious.

“I could feel the love that you spiced it with through all the other stuff.” Ren laughs at his own joke and Goro resists the urge to slap his leg. “Putting egg and curry spices together sounds like it would be a fun idea. Maybe I should make that for Futaba when she feels better.”

Goro doesn’t say anything, allowing Ren to continue petting his hair in the way that he obviously needs, even if he won’t admit it. 

“You took care of me really well,” Ren continues, “so don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I made you sicker,” Goro mumbles. 

“I didn’t throw up any more than I did in the beginning,” Ren points out, though Goro knows that the only reason Ren was even sick in the first place was his fault, as per usual. “You stayed with me the whole time, and you even made me drink my medicine. Too bad you didn’t give it to me mouth-to-mouth or anything.”

His obvious attempts to make Goro feel better only makes him worse, as if he’s receiving a participation trophy for an absolutely hellish piece of art. “I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t do. Stop trying to give me more credit than I deserve.”

Ren’s fingers hesitate on Goro’s head before they shift down to his chin, tilting him up out of the sheets until they’re looking at each other. Ren’s face is serious now, his thumb rubbing absently at Goro’s cheek. 

“I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, Goro. You were here for me last night and you did your best to help me. See? I’m feeling all better now. And don’t you say that it’s because of my stamina,” and Goro reflexively shuts his mouth, the retort stifled before it could even make its way out. “Seriously, Goro.”

Goro feels his hands being grasped in a firm grip but he can’t even look down at them, his eyes fixated by the magnetic allure of Ren’s unfairly earnest expression. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

_Thank you for taking care of me._

The words, the acknowledgement that Goro’s always wanted to say, whether it’s to Ren or to Her, passes through Ren’s mouth so easily, and Goro is helpless against the warmth that permeates his heart. Seeps through his core. 

_Thank you for taking care of me._

It’s not the same as what Goro dreams of. Not the same as what Goro did and didn’t do as a child, so hung up on conventions and normalcy and what to say or when to say them. But he hopes, deep down, past the resentment and the anger and the cynicism, that his mother hears that Goro is no longer a vessel of pain, so that she may rest.

“It’s no big deal,” Goro says, keeping the stammer out of his voice like the professional that he is. “Next time you get sick I’ll take care of you even better than today.”

Ren nudges him gently. “Next time, you should be the one to get sick so that I can show you the _proper_ way to take care of someone.”

Goro shoves him back. “Excuse you, but I just need some more practice to learn how to make a good okayu.”

“Next time maybe don’t add in any curry spices. Just follow the recipe.”

“Hm. We’ll see.”

For a while, there is a comfortable silence in the attic, broken only by the purring snores of the cat. Ren rubs soft thumbs into the back of Goro’s hands, while Goro traces meaningless letters into Ren’s skin. Ren’s hands are clammy from sweat, similar to how it had been last night from the throes of fever.

“Goro,” Ren says suddenly, his voice strangely light. “Will you marry me and take care of me forever? That is, if you can keep up with how I plan on taking care of you.”

It’s a little out of the blue, and Goro can’t help but blink in surprise at Ren, who is gazing at him with his usual confident smirk, despite the sudden death grip that he has on Goro’s hands. Goro bites back a smile and squeezes back, making sure his tone is as casual as possible.

“Challenge accepted."

**Author's Note:**

> I was paired up with the lovely Dex for the minibang! Dex preferred not to have his social media profiles linked here, but [he did also write an amazingly adorable AkeShuSumi earlier in the minibang](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26362780) so please check that one out as well and shower it with well-deserved love!!
> 
> My Twitter is [wafumayo](https://twitter.com/wafumayo) and my Tumblr is [surelynotshirley](http://surelynotshirley.tumblr.com)


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